Write about: the butterfly catcher.
Busy day. Helped put the nets on the cherry trees this morning. Picked strawberries that went unpicked at yesterday's U-Pick this afternoon. Mowed the lawn this evening.
Ready for rest now.
Catcher? I am no mere butterfly catcher.
I am a butterfly hunter.
No fluttering, paint-splattered winged insect can escape my net. I am as accurate with my tool of choice as any of those so called big game hunters are with theirs.
And I have the collection to prove it.
Only I don't settle for heads or tusks or teeth like they do. I bring my prey home whole. Alive, even, in most cases. Let's see them do that with their elephants or lions or gorillas or whatevers. I think not.
And they take themselves so seriously. Act as though they are better than me. How many of their targets have they managed to land in their lifetimes? One? Maybe two or three? I certainly haven't met any that have surpassed ten.
Me? I count them by the hundreds. I have filled mansions with my butterflies. Mansions. Let me see any of them accomplish that.
I think not.